Little People
by wibblywobblytimeywimeygirl13
Summary: A mysterious text arrives from a blocked number and turns the lives of Sherlock and John upside down. Suddenly Sherlock's long lost sister is living in their flat, Moriarty is back, the skull is wearing hair accessories, there is singing at Baker Street, and Sherlock is failing at being a sociopath.
1. Better Run For Cover

The text came at 7:53 in the evening from a blocked phone number. John and Sherlock had been watching one of those crime shows. Sherlock was watching to solve the case, and John just for the sheer amusement of watching his friend scream at the telly.

The phone buzzed and Sherlock reached for his pocket.

"Mycroft again?" John asked, keeping his focus on the television. He wasn't really in the mood to deal with the Holmes family antics right now.

"Why would it be Mycroft?" Sherlock questioned absently as he checked the text.

"Because exactly two people on the planet earth text you, and I'm here."

John waited a moment, and was a bit startled by the lack of a snarky come back "Sherlock?" He glanced over at his friend who's eyes were locked to the phone "Sherlock what is it?"

"John, pack a suitcase. Bare essentials only. We won't be staying for long."

"Wait, what? Where are we going? What's happened Sherlock?"

The detective elected to answer only the second question, yelling "We're going to America," over his shoulder as he jammed his belongings into a small suitcase.

John couldn't get Sherlock to settle down enough to talk until they were in the cab on the way to the airport. Sherlock had phoned Mycroft, and jabbered frantically into the phone about the text and someone named Emmalina, and the elder Holmes had assigned them a private jet to fly them to America.

"So what was the text?" he finally asked, about fifteen minutes into the cab ride. Sherlock hadn't spoken since he had announced their destination, and was now tapping his fingers frantically against the window of the cab, as if that could somehow make it move more quickly.

Rather than deign to answer him, Sherlock tossed the small black phone into John's lap and continued his tapping. John checked the messages. Sherlock had received three texts in the last twelve hours. The latest five minutes ago, from Mycroft, confirming that the plane would be waiting for them. The first, from himself, asking if they had milk in the flat or if he needed to buy some more. The second was from a blocked phone number and contained only four words.

"Better run for cover."

"So you think this is from Moriarty?" He asked, waving the text at the detective.

"Of course it's from Moriarty. No one else could possibly know about her."

"Wait, about who?"

"My sister, John. Obviously."

The doctor stared at the detective in absolute awe for a moment "You have a-"

"Sister, yes. Her name is Emmalina, and she's fourteen, and Moriarty has just threatened her life."

"And you never told me about this sister because?"

"You never asked." After a moment of uncomfortable silence Sherlock looked away from the window and studied the frustrated expression on John's face. "Oh, this is one of those friend things isn't it?"

"Yep."

"So I have to tell you now, don't I?"

"Great deduction Sherlock."

The detective inhaled deeply and then began to explain. "Shortly before my father died he and my mother were apparently able to reconcile their sham of a marriage long enough to spawn one final time. He passed away about three months into the pregnancy. My mother began to suffer from depression, so that after Emmalina was born it fell to Mycroft and me to take care of her, mostly me, because as you know Mycroft is useless. Everything would have been perfectly fine, had mum not died when Emmalina was ten. Mycroft would not take her, and I . . ." he paused and ground his teeth together in anger "was not deemed a fit legal guardian for my sister, due to some . . . unfortunate habits I was in possession of at the time. It was arranged that she would move in with a close friend of hers, whose parents had acted as a sort of second family when I was busy with school."

"Oh. Sherlock, I'm sorry."

"It's not of import."

John decided to ignore the fact that the detective was clearly very upset (or at least very upset by Sherlock standards), and move on. "So we're going to get her? You called her guardians?"

"Yes, while you were packing. We will be picking her up first thing in the morning and flying her back here."

"Wait. Hold on a second Sherlock. You're gonna keep a kid in our apartment."

"Is there a problem John?"

"Of course there's a problem Sherlock! You keep more weaponry, dangerous chemicals, and narcotics in there than most people keep dishes."

Sherlock looked a little hurt "Only the nicotine patches."

"Not the point Sherlock! What I am trying to say is that our apartment is not safe for a kid, and neither you nor I is a qualified parent."

At that Sherlock's face went from plain indignant to downright offended. "I did a good enough job of it for the first ten years of her life!"

John was a little surprised at the venom in his friend's tone and decided not to push it any further.

The plane ride was unpleasant to say the least. John though Sherlock must still be annoyed with him over the "not a qualified parent" comment, or perhaps he was just being Sherlock. Either way that man said almost nothing through the entire plane ride other than to ask John to hand him the pen that was lying three inches away from him. He then took the pen and began to tap it against the window of the plane to the same beat he'd been tapping in the cab. After three failed attempts to talk to him, John attempted to read, only to be unable to focus because of the incessant tapping.

"Sherlock, really, can't you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Tapping."

There was a momentary pause. "No," and the tapping resumed with more vigor than ever.

When they landed in Los Angeles Sherlock wouldn't even let John stop for breakfast, and instead drove immediately to the house, despite the fact that it was 6 am.

The cab ride was long and fairly awkward, since Sherlock refused to utter a word and kept on with his incessant tapping. Finally, after what seemed like ages, Sherlock and John arrived at the house.

It was a charming little house. White trim decorated the windowsills and a bright red door practically said "come on in".

Sherlock walked up to the front porch and rang the doorbell. John wasn't too far behind.

"Sherlock? You did tell the kids' parents that we were coming, right?"

"Yes, of course. I'm not an idiot, John."

The door opened to reveal a man and a woman in their 40's. "You must be Sherlock. Well, I must say this was all rather hasty. Any particular reason you want your sister back right now?"

"No. No reason at all," Sherlock lied. "I just want to spend some quality time, is all."

"Are you bringing her back?"

"Eventually, yes."

"Well, then. Emmalina!" she called to the young girl.

"What?" a voice answered from the second floor.

"Your brother's here."

There was a short pause before "Coming!"

A girl of age 14 came running down the steps with a black suitcase covered with Les Mis stickers. She was wearing skinny jeans, combat boots, and a blue tank top with a TARDIS on it.

"Hey," she said before hugging her older brother. "Long time no see. Who's your boyfriend?" she teased.

"He's not my-" Sherlock said.

"I'm not his-" John defended.

"Relax. I'm messing with you," she explained. "So, remind me why I'm leaving."

"I wanted to spend time with my little sister. Is that so wrong?" Sherlock said.

"Wrong, no. Out of character, yes. You haven't visited me in over two years."

"Two years?" John asked.

"Two years," Emmalina confirmed. "Well, times a-wasting. Off to the airport." And with that she marched out the door leaving the two men with nothing to do but follow her to the cab.

The car ride back to the airport was still rather awkward, but at least Sherlock didn't tap his pen. Once they were about to board the jet, Emmalina said, "You have a private jet?"

"No. It's Mycroft's."

"Ugh. Him. I never did like him. Was always 'too good' to hang with his little sis. Unlike some people I know," she nudged Sherlock, who blushed. Sherlock actually blushed. Needless to say John was in awe of their relationship.

Finally the trio arrived in London. Emmalina was quick to throw her stuff right at the front door and ran over to the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower!" she announced.

Sherlock and John settled in their old apartment. John finally worked up the nerve to ask what he has been itching to ask for days.

"So what was that text about anyways 'better run for cover', I mean I guess I can see how that's a threat, but how did you know it was about your sister?"

Sherlock sighed, lifting his chin from his steepled fingers "When Emmalina was little, she wasn't like the other children, none of us were as I'm sure you could have guessed. She was more normal than Mycroft or me, but she was still mocked. She used to come home crying most days. My mother was in and out of the hospital and my father was . . . gone by then, and Mycroft was busy, so it fell to me to deal with it. I used to sing her songs when she couldn't calm down, from the musical Les Miserables. That was a lyric from our favorite."

"Oh." John was a bit surprised by such an emotional memory in Sherlock's life "What was the song?"

Sherlock sighed again in annoyance this time, rather than remembrance, but gave and began to recite the words. "Little people know, when little people fight"

"We may be easy pickings," sang the soft, lilting voice from around the corner. Emmalina had emerged from the bathroom, showered and in a nightdress, "But we got some bite."

Sherlock gave a genuine grin and sang, actually sang, the rest of the song along with his sister. "So never kick a dog. Because he's just a pup. We'll fight like twenty armies, and we won't give up. So you better run for cover, when the pup grows up."

During the rendition the girl had crossed over to the detective and taken his hand in hers. When the song finished he pulled her tightly into a hug. "It's good to have you here Emmalina. I'm happy to see you again."

She smiled and ruffled the dark black curls "You too Sherly-locks" John snorted a laugh at the nickname, which he was most definitely going to use against his friend when he got the chance.

Sherlock groaned at the nickname and batted at his sister's arm. She laughed and danced away, perching herself on the opposite edge of the sofa and pulling a phone from the pocket of her night dress.

"Who are you texting?" Sherlock asked without actually looking over.

"Robby, boyfriend," she said nonchalantly and continued to tap out the text.

Now Sherlock did turn, a single dark eyebrow crawling up his face. "You're fifteen. When did you get a boyfriend?" He spat the last word like it was poisonous.

Emmalina looked up a little defensively "It's new."

Sherlock mulled this over for a second and then firmly declared, "No outside contact" before snatching the phone from his sister's fingers.

"You cannot be serious."

"I most definitely can be and am serious."

"You just don't like that I have a boyfriend."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that fact. But when you do return home please inform this Robby, that your brother owns not only several guns, but a wide range of knives, swords, throwing stars, and a harpoon."

Emmalina groaned and John looked up from the paper. "Oh that reminds me. Molly called. You left the harpoon at the mortuary."

"Oh. You can get it on your way to work tomorrow."

"Absolutely not Sherlock. I am not bringing a bloody harpoon into the hospital with me, and I'm done fetching your weapons anyway."

"Since when?"

"Since I had to explain the throwing stars to airport security."

Emmalina looked up from her sulk. "I'll go get it. I can take the tube."

"Absolutely not," Sherlock replied "You're not going to leave the apartment until everything's been sorted."

"It's boring here," she groaned, and John was struck by how very much the young girl reminded him of her older brother. "There's nothing to do. You didn't even give me time to pack my damn books."

"Language," Sherlock said, almost automatically, and John gave a startled laugh at the absolutely parental tone in his voice.

"Sherlock," John said cautiously "Maybe it would be a good idea to let her go out, with Molly or Mrs. Hudson or one of Lestrade's men. You can't exactly keep her cooped up in the apartment for the entire time, it's not safe here for a kid anyways," he continued, thinking of the numerous weapons which weren't exactly well hidden, not to mention the nicotine patches, and the cigarettes and god knows what else Sherlock was no doubt hiding somewhere.

"Not a kid," Emmalina corrected "And I concur with Dr. Watson. Come on Sherly-locks. If you keep me locked in here I swear to god I will hack your website again and post all the stories mummy told me about you, and more."

"I'd like to see you try," Sherlock scoffed.

"73PBFURIW-LV-DQ-DVV20"

"How did you?"

"Sister, Sherlock, remember? Sorry that you and Mycroft aren't getting along. Things haven't changed there I see."

"What was-" John stammered, amazed at the skills of the rather ordinary seeming girl (though he knew he shouldn't have been too surprised. She was after all, a Holmes). "How could you possibly-"

"It's 'Mycroft is an ass' in Ceaser cipher, between the numbers of my last address. It's adorable really."

"Amazing," John said and Sherlock gave a whining sound and slammed his head into his hands.

"Not really. He's used the same trick since we were seven. Even the great detective has his tells. So shopping then?"

"Fine," Sherlock groaned "on the condition that you go nowhere near my laptop."

"I think we may just have a deal, dear brother."

"I'll get Molly to take you tomorrow. Just don't bother me for the rest of the week."

She gave another grin and a giggle. "No promises." Then she twirled and headed off toward her room, grabbing an encyclopedia of diseases off the shelf as she went.

"Well," John said after the door had shut behind the girl "I officially like your sister."

"She's incredibly annoying."

"Must be genetic then."

**Author's Note: Okay so sorry if this wasn't great. I sort of just got a random idea and wrote it all up in a frenzy. New chapters will be coming soon. And sorry for the Les Miserables references (really not sorry), but just sort of had to due to obsession. I can assure you they will continue throughout the fic. Thank you so much for reading and pretty please review, any feedback is appreciated because I'm constantly looking for ways to improve. With editing and help with my writer's block from Camibelle ( u/4479666/), who is an awesome person and has earned my eternal gratitude. **


	2. Keeper of the Zoo

Molly knocked on the door at 7:45. John had called her two days ago to arrange for her to take Emmalina out for some fun. And it was a good thing too, because after three days locked in a flat with two Holmess he was fairly certain he was about to lose his mind.

Sherlock had gone into his case mindset, refusing to eat, sleep, or talk to anyone. The issue of course was that as Moriarty hadn't actually done anything other than send a text, there wasn't much of a case to be worked. As a result the detective was bored, irritable, and generally infuriating. His sister, if this was even possible, was worse.

From the night they had arrived she had stripped the shelf of all the books and curled up in her room (formerly Sherlock's room). She hadn't left the room for 20 hours straight. At that point she emerged for a meal, returned all the books to their shelves. She then informed Sherlock that she was starting a Netflix account. He yelled back for her to use Mycroft's credit card number, and she disappeared again. She didn't reemerge for anything more than five minutes until the second day, when she stormed out and informed Sherlock, rather loudly, that she was bored.

He looked up momentarily from the old case file he'd been examining "What do you expect me to do about it?"

"You could give me my phone back"

"Could. Won't. I thought you were watching telly anyway, one of those idiotic fantasy shows you like"

"Sci-fi, not fantasy. And I finished it"

"Oh. Well go buy a video game or something"

"Take me out somewhere!"

"Busy"

"Let me help"

"Absolutely not"

It was at this point that things really started to get bad. John hadn't minded Emmalina's presence in the flat at all, in fact it was sort of nice to have someone around to put Sherlock in his place, but a bored Holmes was never a good thing. She slunk away from Sherlock and it was only a matter of a few minutes before she found the violin. Within seconds one of the most hideous screeching sounds John had ever heard in his life began to echo through the flat. Sherlock seemed to have no interest in doing anything about it, so he went to see if he could get the girl to stop and do something a little less painful.

He walked up to her in the corner of the living room as she drew the bow agonizingly over the strings "I thought all the Holmes kids learned how to play"

She stopped "Oh. Dr. Watson, hello. We do. I know how to play quite well actually"

John raised an eyebrow at her "Then why aren't you"

"More fun this way" she smiled deviously and the screeching resumed.

The next day, when John returned home from the surgery, the flat was in ruins. Sherlock was nowhere to be found, but it looked like he had shot up the wall again. Emmalina was draped over the arm of the couch, hanging upside down, and throwing knives into the ceiling.

"Hey!" John shouted, the moment he walked in the door.

Emmalina craned her neck so she could see him. "Something wrong, Doctor Watson?" Another knife left her fingers and embedded itself in the roof.

"Give those to me right now!" John said frantically "Where did you get these?"

"Sherlock hides them under the sink" a knife struck the ceiling fan with a clink and fell back down to the floor. Emmalina reached for it to throw again.

"Stop that!" John said, grabbing the knife away "You could get hurt"

"Not. A. Child. Doctor. Watson" With each word another knife from the enormous stash on her lap embedded itself in the ceiling. There were nearly ten up there already and John couldn't tell how many she had in her lap. He'd have to speak to Sherlock about this. Keeping weapons in the flat was one thing, but there had to be twenty something knives between the girl and the ceiling.

John ignored this and reached out a hand for the knives again, knowing that Sherlock would never forgive him if his sister was injured. With a groan Emmalina surrendered the pile.

"Where's Sherlock anyway?"

"At the mortuary. He said to tell you it was the groundskeeper that did it. Maid helped him"

"Sherlock just left you here alone?"

"I _am _fifteen, Dr. Watson. But no, he did not. Mrs. Hudson is downstairs. If I'm not mistaken I think he may have given her a gun. Not sure she knows how to use it though. Might want to go take care of that"

"And you've just been…" he trailed off, lacking a word to describe what she'd been doing, and gestured at the ceiling.

She nodded "Yep. Well after I finished up with the skull and the blog"

John glanced over at the skull. Evidently Emmalina had found Sherlock's disguises, in which he kept every manner of costume and makeup he could locate, because the skull was wearing a long blonde wig braided with ribbons, not to mention lipstick around the jaw and eye shadow smeared above the sockets. John groaned "Oh Sherlock's gonna love that. Wait" he said catching the rest of her statement "the skull and the _what?"_

Emmalina grinned wickedly. "Really doctor. You're passwords are worse than his" Then she rolled off the couch, stood up, stretched and sauntered off.

With another groan and a pledge to never leave the girl unsupervised again he opened his computer and loaded his blog. There was a new post from today. He opened it to survey the damage.

"Good evening, ladies and is the great detective's sister, Emmalina. Yep that's right, bet Sherlock never told you people he has a sister, but here I am. This, dear brother, is a reminder of why you shouldn't leave me alone in the flat. So, who'd like to hear the story of the time Sherlock thought the carnival guy was killed by the mechanical clown? Anyone? Well I promise that's coming if Sherly-locks doesn't give me something to do. And yes, dear brother, that is a threat. See you all soon- Emmalina Holmes"

John smiled a bit. It wasn't nearly as bad as he had thought, and he'd most definitely have to ask the girl for that clown story sometime. He deleted the post and posted a brief explanation that Sherlock's sister was visiting and had hacked his website, then shut the computer and hoped Sherlock hadn't seen the post.

So now it was finally the day that Molly would take the strange ball of violence and computer skills off John's hands for a while. And he was incredibly grateful. It had gotten so he hadn't even been able to leave the flat without either Emmalina or Sherlock doing something destructive.

"Emmalina!" he shouted back into the flat "Molly's here!" he turned back to Molly "Thanks so much for doing this, you have no idea"

Molly smiled "It's no trouble. I didn't know Sherlock had a sister. It'll be nice to meet her"

John was considering if Molly would still be of that opinion when she returned, when Emmalina emerged from her bedroom talking to Sherlock

"And remember to call every hour. If you don't I swear I will send Mycroft after you, In a _helicopter_. Remember last time"

"For god's sake Sherlock. I was _seven _last time. But yes, I will call every freaking hour if it'll shut you up and get me out of this flat!"

"I'm delighted" he monotoned as they rounded a corner "Hello Molly"

"Sherlock" John tried to ignore the way Molly smiled a little brighter and shifted her posture when the detective entered the room. Emmalina, however, did not. She looked from Molly to the detective and raised an eyebrow, then gave one of the mischievous grins John had come to fear so terribly.

She extended her hand "And you must be Molly Hooper. I am delighted to meet you"

Molly smiled and shook the offered hand "Well, you're very polite, aren't you? Nothing like your brother"

Both John and Sherlock snorted at this, and Emmalina raised an eyebrow "Well we should probably be going. I'm gonna need new clothes and things if I'm going to stay here too long. And books. Lot's of books" She turned to her brother "Card please Sherlock"

Wordlessly Sherlock handed over his credit card and John was momentarily confused before remembering that the Holmes family was actually rather rich. Since Sherlock was currently on semi-speaking terms with Mycroft he probably had access to whatever funds he liked, especially if those were to be utilized for the care of his sister. John was actually a little surprised that Mycroft hadn't shown up yet, given how involved that man was, or at least tried to be, in the care of his brother. John resolved to ask about it later as Emmalina and Molly disappeared out the door.

..

About thirty miles away in a formerly abandoned warehouse, a man was watched through a cctv camera, as a woman and girl exited 221B Baker Street. He paused the tape and reached for his cellphone. "Mr. Moriarty" he said, voice quaking slightly as he greeted his boss "they've just left sir"

In his office Jim Moriarty hung up the phone, a grin splitting his face. She was here, in London. So close. He reached for his phone again and sent a text "The game has begun. Be ready"

..

Molly watched in horror as Emmalina burned through her brother's credit card. Sherlock's sister walked from store to store like a girl on a mission, buying whatever she liked. It wasn't so much a shopping spree as a campaign of vengeance against Mycroft.

She strode into a Hot Topic and grabbed jeans, t-shirts, pins, a denim jacket, black nail polish, blue hair dye, and assorted other objects which she threw onto the counter. Then she handed the card to the rather shocked looking teller.

She accepted the two enormous bag, and added them to the pile she was already carrying and started moving rapidly to the next store. Molly had to jog to keep up. It was at this point that she called "Emmalina! Stop!" the girl slowed and waited for her to catch up "Maybe we could get something to eat, take a rest"

Emmalina considered this for a second and then nodded. "As long as you let me pay"

Molly agreed with a shrug and when they had both loaded their plates with food they found seats. After she had taken a few bites Molly asked Emmalina "So why are you so eager to spend Mycroft's money anyhow?"

Emmalina glanced up "What?"

"You're spending your brothers cash like there's no tomorrow. You don't need to be Sherlock to figure out that it's not because you need ten pairs of jeans"

"It's nothing"

"Alright, just…." Molly trailed off.

Emmalina looked at her again "Just what?"

"Just I know Sherlock isn't always the easiest person to talk to, and this whole thing can't have been easy for you, so if there's something you want to say you can say it to me. That's all"

Emmalina didn't respond for a long time, just stared down at her plate and picked at her food. Molly nodded and went back to eating, allowing herself to get lost in her thoughts. She nearly forgot that she hd said anything at all, so it took her entirely by surprise when Emmalina whispered "He abandoned me"

"What?" Molly looked up, not even sure the girl had actually spoken.

"Mycroft. He abandoned me. He was barely there when I was a child, and when mum died, he sent me away. He could have taken me and let Sherlock raise me, he wouldn't have had to lift a finger. But he sent me away. I know why too. He never said it, but I know why. It was a punishment. For Sherlock. He wouldn't get clean. So Mycroft sent me away. He used me to get to Sherlock. And then he abandoned me"

"Emmalina… I'm sorry" Molly didn't know what to say. The bitter resentment n the girls voice was not something she'd expected. She'd figured the child was settling some petty vendetta against the elder Holmes.

"It's… It's okay. I grew up well. Lily and Matt, they were wonderful. But… I never got to spend those years with my brother, and he never got to spend them with me. Mycroft can give me all the money he wants, but I an never forgive that" She paused and contemplated her food, then changed her tone abruptly "But I _can _spend every cent of Mycroft's money. So let's be on our way"

Molly blinked in surprise at the sudden change in town but shrugged and got up to follow the youngest Holmes.

….

Leaning against the railing that overlooked the food court a tall thin man with a pistol in his pocket was smiling. He watched as the girl stood up, and a grin danced across her face. He stretched and followed the two women back into the mall. The game had begun, Mr. Moriarty had said, and when the next move came the little Ms. Holmes wouldn't be grinning any longer.

**Author's Note: So thanks to all of you for reading. Sorry for the minimal Sherlock and Emmalina in this chapter, and sorry for shortness. I was originally going to combine this and chapter 3, but I wanted to end this where I did. The title lyric is from Master of the House. It's completely out of context but the lyric really fit the chapter. It's a long song so I didn't want to put it in the notes but here's the link: . **


	3. Like a Storm That'll Break Any Second

About four hours after their conversation in the food court, Emmalina and Molly returned to 221B. Molly was fairly sure that Emmalina had visited every store in the mall, the book store twice. They had to get John and Mrs. Hudson to come down to the car to bring the bags in. Mrs. Hudson was more than happy to have some time to pester the flat's new resident. Being locked in her room for the majority of her visit, Emmlina had attempted to avoid human contact all together. The landlady might have been offended, but she had been host to a Holmes for years and she was more or less used to it.

Emmalina plunked her bags down on the sofa and began to remove her purchases. She had bought as if she was going to be living in 221B for the next year or so, which, given how much progress had been made on the case, was a definite possibility.

She pulled out the bottle of blue hair dye and shook it, grinning.

Sherlock grabbed it from her "Your going to dye you hair?"

Emmalina laughed. "God, no! It's for the skull"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes "You're going to dye the skull?"

"Her hair, yes"

"Why?"  
"Well she's awful plain as is"

A grin played across Sherlock's lips "And exactly how much merchandise did you buy for the skull?"

"I call her Lucy, and quite a lot"

"All with Mycroft's card I presume?"

"Why of course!"

"Just don't get it all over the carpet"

"Can I get in on the ceiling?"

"How would you do that?" Molly chuckled in surprise, sure the girl was joking.

John grimaced "Oh, believe me. She can. By the way Sherlock, you're paying to patch up the holes"

Sherlock nodded. "Could you avoid permanent damage to the flat in the future dear sister?"

"Depends, will you let me out of the apartment, Sherly-locks"

Sherlock's lips were moving to form the word "No" when his phone buzzed. He reached into his apartment and pulled it out. He put it to his ear and listened a moment, then he rolled his eyes. "Well of course you lost her. She's here. May I ask you again what qualifiers you have to perform this job?" he clicked the phone shut and returned his attention to his sister.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Nothing"

"Like hell that was nothing. Who was that?"

"Just a friend"

"You don't have friends"

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm your sister. Stop trying to change the subject Sherlock. You had someone tail me didn't you?"

"I was attempting to ensure your safety"

"Oh for god's sake!" she snapped "This is ridiculous! I'm not six, you idiot!"

"Emmalina, please, you may be in danger"

"OF WHAT? You won't freaking tell me who's after me! You just scooped me out of my life, and plopped me in your flat! Now I'm going to go out for a while and if you send one damn agent on my tail I will get on a plane and fly back to America! I'm not a child Sherlock and you need to get used to that!"  
"There's no way you are going out!"

"Oh really?" she stormed over to the door and stepped out, slamming it behind her. A voice echoed up the stairs "And I'm posting the clown story!"

Sherlock fell back on the couch, as if the very act of fighting with his sister exhausted him.

"You gonna send someone after her?" John asked.

"Mycroft's man'll be here in two minutes. He'll keep an eye on her" he sighed. His eyes closed for a few minutes. John resumed discussion with Molly, trying to ignore Sherlock sitting awkwardly in the corner, it wasn't like it was a new occurence. Suddenly Sherlock's eyes snapped open "The clown story? What did she mean, the clown story? Where did that come from?"

"Oh she hacked my blog while I was out and posted something about a mechanical clown. I guess she thought you'd seen it"

"She what?" the detective sat straight up, his voice suddenly moving from exhausted to panicked.

"She posted on the blog, she didn't say anything, it's not a big deal Sherlock"

The detective ignored him and leapt to his feet. He opened the door to the apartment and dashed down the stairs. "Emmalina! Ems! Are you out here? Emmalina answer me damnit!"

John got hastily to his feet in shock and followed the detective out the door, giving Molly and Mrs. Hudson a confused look as he ran. They both stood and followed behind him. "Sherlock? Sherlock, what's wrong?"

The detective stood on the curb, the evening wind whipping his coat around him "Emmalina!" he shouted one last time. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed frantically. "Where is she? Have you got eyes on her?"

The man on the other end was just getting out of his car as he arrived at 221B "No of course not," he said into the phone, shocked at the change from the detective's earlier mocking tone "I thought you said she was with you in the apartment"

Sherlock swore and threw the phone at the ground. John caught his friend's arm "What is it Sherlock? What's happened?" the detective turned and walked back up toward the flat.

"She's gone, John. She's gone"

"Sherlock. She just said she was going out, she could be anywhere. She's almost certainly fine"

Sherlock whirled on him "No John! It was the post! That bloody blog post! He wasn't supposed to know she was here and she told him! _You _told him!"

"You don't know that"

He closed his eyes and folded forward on the steps up to 221B, as the front door closed behind them "Yes, John, I do"

As the front door slammed shut the hand around Emmalina's mouth relaxed. She sucked in air. The man who had been holding her took a step away, waving his pistol languidly in front of her "I can still shoot you if you scream"

Emmalina nodded silently, and the man grabbed her hands roughly. He dragged her to a nondescript tan car. Emmalina swore. She knew that car. She'd seen it at the mall, on the freeway, outside the apartment. How had she missed it? How could she be so stupid? And now it was going to get her killed.

The man motioned and she climbed into the passenger seat. _Think Emmalina. You can handle this._ If this man had been an ordinary mugger she'd have had him flat by now with her foot on his neck. Sherlock had taught her a bit of self defense and she'd been sure to keep her lessons up. But despite recent events Emmalina was rather clever and she had recognized immediately that this man was no ordinary mugger.

The man slammed the door behind her and got into the seat opposite her. He put his gun on his lap and said easily "Try anything and I'll put a bullet through your heart"

"Noted" she smiled when the man gave her a confused look. She had thrown him off balance, that was good. That was what she needed. She stretched her back and tried to look relaxed "So, since we're going on this nice little road trip together, do you mind telling me where I'm headed?"

"Unfortunately we do mind, Miss" he kept his eyes on the road, not sparing her a second glance. Okay, we, she could use that. It wasn't just him. She hadn't thought so, but this confirmed it.

"And who do you work for?" the man flinched. That was good. That was very good. She'd struck a nerve. And suddenly Emmalina knew he was not going to be shooting her just now. Whoever this man worked for, he was terrified of them, not exactly a pleasing idea but it would work for now. "Ooh, scary is he? He ask you to bring me in? Me specifically, or he just get a craving for a blonde. Because you know, if that's it, you got the wrong girl, mate. You really have no clue how much shit you just stepped in"

"Oh, we know what we're doing, Miss", the man said. But he had flinched again. Just for a second. They rounded a corner on to an abandoned road in some kind of industrial complex, high chain link fences rising up on either side of them.

Emmalina took a deep breath, suddenly realizing what she was going to do "Because let me tell you something about Sherlock Holmes, as I'm assuming you didn't want me for my English grades. If one finger is laid on me, my big brother will find you and he will rip your lungs out through your nostrils" she hissed in a low voice "That is, if I don't manage it first"

The man looked unnerved, and turned to her, probably to tell her to shut up, and Emmalina took the opportunity. She launched herself at the man and grabbed the steering wheel in her hands, twisting it to the side as far as it would go. The car swerved and slammed into the wire. Emmalina was thrown forward into the dashboard and everything went black.

Sherlock paced the apartment, his feet burning a hole in the carpet. Lestrade and Mycroft had both come and gone, the former received with frustration the latter with outright hostility, and now half the police force and Britain's secret service were out combing the street's for Emmalina Holmes.

Mrs. Hudson had been rushing in and out of the apartment bringing food and picking up after Sherlock without even complaining about not being his housekeeper.

Molly had stayed, and though the only real effect of her presence at that moment was to give Sherlock someone else to yell at in his panic, it was appreciated. He completed another circle around the apartment, and bumped into Mrs. Hudson bringing up a plate of tea.

"Thought you might like some tea, dear" she said sweetly setting the plate down on the coffee table.

"What good will it do?" Sherlock snapped and a teacup went sailing off the plate and into the wall. They all watched the shards of cup slide down to the carpet, seemingly in slow motion.

Sherlock started to pace another circle "Sherlock!" John snapped "Sit down!" The detective sat abruptly as if his legs had been chopped out from under him. Mrs. Hudson muttered something about the cup and went to pick it up.

"I'll replace it Mrs. Hudson" Sherlock sighed, folding his head back into his hands.

"It's fine dear" she said, and disappeared back down the stairs.

Sherlock's eyes closed and he muttered into his hands "How could I be so thick? So utterly thick? There was so much I should've noticed! I should've known he would expect me to bring her here! I shouldn't have let her leave the apartment at all! I should have guessed she'd try something with the blog. I should have saved her!"

From the chair in the corner Molly spoke up "Sherlock. That's nonsense. You couldn't have known. Just stop blaming yourself and focus on finding her!"

They all, even Molly, were a little startled by this sudden outburst from the woman who had remained dutifully silent up until that point.

However surprising it was the first thing that seemed to effectively snap Sherlock out of it and John was grateful for it. Sherlock stood up and John and Molly followed him outside.

Sherlock wandered around the street looking for any signs of the girl and what had happened to her. There were none to be found until he wandered around a corner to an almost minuscule side alley. His eyes latched on to a small scratch in the paint of the wall and a hairclip lying below it. Anywhere else it would have meant nothing, and he tried to tell himself it still might, but as he bent to pick up the hairclip he knew. It was a bright neon blue, the same color he'd seen tucked into Emmalina's hair not four hours earlier.

He swore and threw the clip to the ground "What?" John asked "What is it Sherlock?"

"She was here!" he shouted "She was right here, being pressed up against that wall, and I missed it! I bloody missed it!"

John was about to ask what exactly Sherlock meant when the detective's phone buzzed and Sherlock reflexively reached to check the text. His eyes suddenly widened and he dropped the phone like it was burning, then with no warning at all he turned and fled to the apartment like a frightened cat. Molly chased after him asking what was wrong and John stopped to pick up his friends phone.

The text was still open. Displayed on the screen was a photo of Emmalina, her head lolling sickeningly to one side. Typed beneath it were the words "Three days. Then little sister dies. Tick, tock, Sherly-locks"

**Author's Note:**

**I just want to thank anyone who left me feedback, for being awesome, and especially to Green Poppy for their wonderful and super helpful comments, and for pointing out a bunch of plot holes I completely missed, and am now trying to address. You have my thanks! Also CamiBelle and Lily for listening to me rant about plot lines and song lyrics. ****Speaking of which this chapter title comes from: At the End of the Day. You can listen to the full song here: /#!/s/At+The+End+Of+The+Day/2otnE?src=5, but the verse I took the lyric from is: And the waves crash on the sand/Like a storm that'll break any second/There's a hunger in the land/There's a reckoning still to be reckoned/And there's gonna be hell to pay/At the end of the day**


	4. Let No One Sleep Tonight

Emmalina opened her eyes to an empty room. The first thought that came into her head was that she hurt. There was a pain reverberating through her entire body and it made it hard to think.  
Stop that Emmalina. That doesn't help you. Where does it hurt? She closed her eyes and tried to take a mental catalogue of the pain. Head, arm... her left, and a couple of fingers on her right hand, and her ribs. The arm was definitely broken, there wasn't even a question about it. The fingers were broken, maybe, or at the very least badly sprained. The ribs were almost definitely cracked and she was sure she'd have a nice bruise crawling up her side. The head, now that was trickier. She'd lost consciousness, and her thoughts were a bit fogged, so it was probably a concussion, but she didn't feel too lost so it would have to be a minor one.  
Okay that wasn't too bad, she'd been injured worse. She just had to call an ambulance. Lily would be pissed as hell though, who knew how long she'd been gone from home. No... Wait. That wasn't right. She wasn't with Lily and Matt. She was with... Sherlock, yes. But why wasn't Sherlock here? She closed her eyes again, the memories felt slippery through the fog in her head and it was hard to get a grasp on them. She'd been in a car wreck. Oh god Sherlock would be so worried. She needed to get to a phone right now! She stretched her back to try and get into a standing position and immediately became aware of the handcuffs on her wrists. Suddenly it all came rushing back to her. She'd been kidnapped, and she hadn't been in a car wreck, not exactly. She'd crashed the car to give her a chance at getting away from the kidnapper. Evidently it hadn't worked all that well.  
Okay. She could deal with this. Think Emmalina what do you need to do first? She needed to figure out where she was. She forced her eyes open, simultaneously reminding herself that she should keep them that way since in her state right now sleep was a very bad idea.  
She looked around the room. It was almost completely empty. About ten feet from her there was a small metal chair. There was a door on the opposite wall with a bolt on it.  
There was no bed or anything else to suggest that the room had been made for human habitation. The walls were a dull cement color and not painted or papered, the roof was metal with huge metal beams. It looked like a... warehouse. Yes that was right. She'd been in an industrial complex when she'd crashed the car. Damn it! If she had just crashed it earlier she might have gotten away, instead she basically slammed the vehicle into her kidnapper's front doorstep.  
Well that was just great.  
Okay, if the room wasn't going to be of much help she needed to find a person. "Hey!" her voice came out quiet and raspy, she cleared her throat and tried again "HEY! Someone want to come and tell me why I'm in cuffs? Anyone? Come out, come out wherever you are"  
The door swung open. The man who walked in was medium height, with short black hair, and he was wearing a suit that could probably have payed for Emmalina to take a trip to Hawaii.  
His eyes were wide and he gave Emmalina a crooked smile.  
"Hello" he said, in a soft, singsong voice that made Emmalina's blood run cold "It is very nice to meet you"  
His tone seemed almost pleasant, but Emmalina was not fooled. There was something about the man's wide eyes, his slow walk, and soft voice that reminded Emmalina of a snake that has just been awoken from hibernation.  
"Who the hell are you?" It comes out fierce and full of fire and Emmalina is instantly impressed with herself.  
"A friend of your brother's dear"  
"Oh," she raised an eyebrow "Sherlock's friends don't usually handcuff me"  
He shrugs and gives her a grin "First time for everything"  
Emmalina suppresses a shiver at the look in his eye but does the best to maintain absolute confidence. "So what are you then?" she looks him over, head to toe, looking for tells. He's crazy. That's obvious, but she can't find squat about who he actually is. This bothers her. She isn't her brother, but Emmalina has always been able to read people "Because you're not his friend. John's his friend, Molly too maybe, maybe he doesn't treat them all that well, but-"  
The hand across her face catches her completely by surprise. Her head slams back against the wall, and a fireworks show explodes in front of her vision. My, that can't be good for the concussion she thinks absently as the world comes back into focus. The man snarls at her "Pets, the both of them. Sherlock and I are going to do great things someday"  
"Well. That's just dandy. And I suppose I'm all part of the master plan"  
The man leans in close and his breath smells like dead things "You're bait dearie. And you're just as good beaten as not, so I suggest you SHUT UP!" The last too words are shouted so loud they make new fireworks explode in front of her vision.  
"Not likely" she says and a foot lodges in her broken ribs.

Lestrade rested his head on the desk for a moment. He'd been running around non-stop for about six hours, if the clock was correct. Six hours? Had it really been that long? It seemed only minutes ago that Donovan had come in during his lunch break informing him that there had been a kidnapping.  
"That isn't our division, Sally" Aren't they're supposed to be police who deal with these sorts of things?  
"Freak asked for you"  
Lestrade had started listening more carefully at that, knowing that if Sherlock was investigating it it would have to be something important, and he was one of the only inspectors who would work with the detect anyway. "Who's the vic?"  
Donovan had swallowed hard and stared at the ground, a gesture that was rather unusual for her "Emmalina. Emmalina Holmes"  
From there Lestrade had lept to his feet and he hadn't been off them since. He'd gone over to 221 B first. Sherlock shouted at him, informed him he was an idiot, and told him to get out and do something already. None of these things were particularly new to the Detective Inspector, but what was new, and incredibly upsetting, was the fact that the consulting detective didn't seem to have any ideas to throw in his face. Instead he just paced around the flat, yelling at the three of them, demanding his cigarettes, and knocking over the occasional breakable object.  
From there he had returned to his office, sent half the police force out to comb London, and finally was taking a moment to get his thoughts under control.  
Approximately ten seconds after he leaned his head on to the desk, his phone rang.  
"What is it?" he snapped into the phone "Have you found her?"  
However, it was just John, calling to inform him that Sherlock had gotten a text from Moriarty, which really only served to confirm what they had already guessed, that Moriarty had Emmalina and whatever he was intending to do with her would not be good. The three day deadline made him nervous, it didn't seem to like the consulting criminal to parrot old habits with the ticking clock, the case, and the hostages. Perhaps the attraction for Moriarty was that this time around it was more personal, but even that didn't seem quite right.  
He picked up his phone again and set about deploying the rest of the men they could spare.

Through the security camera Moriarty watched the girl struggle against the bonds, she had more fire in her than he would have guessed. It didn't matter though, she would just break all the harder.  
He knew the detective would have people combing the streets by now, and it he picked up the phone to double check that the car the girl had ruined was safely hidden. That done he sat back down at the security monitor, and got to work.

John opened his laptop. It was nearly midnight now, and Molly had had to go home about an hour ago. Sherlock had stopped pacing around the flat and was now sitting in the arm chair, his knees pulled up to his chin, not sleeping but completely silent.  
He went to the blog and took down the post about Emmalina visiting, silently kicking himself for having posted it in the first place. How much of an idiot could he be? He knew taking it down now wouldn't do any good, but somehow it made him feel better, or at least, less bad.  
As he was about to click delete on the post he noticed the little icon flashing in the corner, informing him that there was a comment on it. He clicked it, and a single line comment popped up with a link and the words "movie night".  
"Sherlock" he started to say, but the detective was already up and reading the words over John's shoulder. He shook his head and pretty much shoved John out of the way, clicking on the link. An entirely black page popped with a single box requesting a password. Sherlock tapped something in and the entire page went black for a moment, then a loading screen popped up.  
"What the hell?" John asked, incredulous. "How did you know what the password would be?"  
Sherlock closed his eyes and for a moment it looked as if he was going to brush John off and tell him to mind his own business, but then his eyes opened and he started to talk. "When Emmalina was six or so, I put her to bed one night, and I was watching this horror movie, "Silence of the Lambs", but I finished it and was about to get up and go to sleep myself, when I heard this sobbing coming from behind the couch. Emmalina, mischievous thing that she was, had snuck into the room and watched the movie from behind the sofa. I don't know how much of the movie she actually saw, but obviously it was enough to scare her half to death. She kept sobbing 'don't let the bad guy get me', and I told her I would never, that I'd always protect her. So that was the password, the movie name"  
Both men glanced at the screen which had finally loaded. There was a picture of Emmalina, much clearer than the one on the cellphone. The girl was badly beaten, a large purple bruise forming on her forehead. Her eyes were open, but glazed, and yet she still glared into the camera with a vicious anger that made John a bit proud of the girl. Printed beneath the photo were the words "You failed, Sherly-locks" and then beneath those in smaller type "I'll be seeing you"  
Sherlock pulled back from the screen, horrified, and collapsed on to the sofa again, his head falling back into his hands. John stared at his friend for a moment, not being able to put together what he was seeing with his image of the great Sherlock Holmes. He moved over to the sofa and put his hand on the shoulder of his friend. "It's alright Sherlock" he said, halfheartedly, knowing that really, it wasn't.  
Sherlock shook his head "No it's not" he dropped his head down further "He's right. I failed her, John. I failed her"


End file.
